


Turn Left

by MolollyWrites



Category: Original Work
Genre: Gen, Suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-28
Updated: 2017-02-28
Packaged: 2018-09-27 11:49:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,241
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10019480
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MolollyWrites/pseuds/MolollyWrites
Summary: Desperate for release from his pain, Adam finally finds a way out.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Alternate ending to original story.

It hurts. The shame wells up inside me and the tears spill over, streaming down my cheeks before dripping down to mingle horribly with the blood oozing from my arm. I’m never good enough. Too weak to live up to everyone’s standards, expectations, needs. My brother isn’t weak, not like me. You’d never see him with a blade in his hand, never see him break down. It would never even cross his mind that that’s what I do in here - cut away at my arms until no skin is left un-marred but…

I need more. My hands are shaking and I can’t get a straight line now - but it doesn’t matter if they’re messy, not anymore. I probably won’t even notice. I’ve lost count of the scars that litter my body now, but one more couldn’t hurt… one more… one more…

I’m stalling. This isn’t what I set out to do, it never is, it’s just my back up. My backup for when I’m too weak to end what needs ending so that I can just move on. But I need this pain - it grounds me, forces me to stay where I am, brings me back to reality because reality is what I need to accept - but not this time. This time, it’s not working. Instead of pulling me back it’s almost pushing me to do what I said I would do months ago - and, this time, I want to. I’m ready to end this torment I call a life. 

I get up. I know where my exit is, where the little bottle that holds my escape is. I’ve had it for months now, ever since I started thinking about this properly. I head to the cabinet and pause in front of it, catching my reflection in the broken mirror. I was the one who broke it - not quite as accidentally as my perfect brother thinks - a little while ago. I didn’t really mean to break it so entirely, but I don’t know what I expected to happen from punching it. I was angry. Angry at my brother for being perfect, angry at my parents for expecting me to be just like him, angry at myself for not being like him. I remember the day I did it like it was this morning. Reports day. James’ was glowing - as usual - but he didn’t really get the attention he deserved. Instead, it was me and my substandard results that got the attention. I knew it wasn’t good enough when I got it. 

I didn’t get dinner that night. I wasn’t good enough, they told me. They hadn’t wanted twins, not really, they only wanted my brother. Well, that’s all they’re going to have now. I hope they’re happy. 

I blink. The fractured Adam in the mirror blinks too. My reflection has almost as many cracks as I do. It’s almost as broken too. Splintering, cracking, breaking at the seams. I open the cabinet so I don’t have to look at it anymore, seeing my identical brother staring back at me through the cracks, and am faced with an array of bottles and jars of icky, sticky lotions and creams that probably belong to my mother. I move a few, pull out my brother’s athletics tape, dumping it on the side, and then I see it. The little orange bottle that holds my sleeping medication. My way out. 

I take it. I turn the bottle over and over in my hand, watching the pills rattle and roll inside. I hold my escape in the palm of my hand, if only I’m not weak enough to return it to it’s place in the cabinet another time. But I’m not this time. I can do this, I can escape. I sit back down on the toilet lid, staring at the bottle. Will this be enough to stop the demons, the nightmares, the monsters that feed on my memories? I think so. I hope so. I twist off the lid and pause, taking a few deep breaths. I can do this, I can. I can escape. 

I tip my head back. Pills fall through parted lips, and I pause about halfway through to swallow before pouring them down my throat again. It’s almost easy, ending it. I just hope that I can fall under before the pain sets in. I know it will eventually, I looked everything up a few months ago - the first time I thought seriously about ending everything - to see how much pain I’d be willing to endure in order to escape. As it turns out, it doesn’t matter. I’ve done it anyway now. 

I feel drowsy. My eyelids start to droop and my shoulders feel heavy, too heavy to sit up, so I lie down on the floor and curl up on my side. My head is pounding. A sick feeling rises in my throat, burning as it comes, and I don’t have the energy to swallow it down. Yellow bile splutters from my lips and pools by my head. The stench is sharp, debilitating, but I can’t turn away from it. My body isn’t responding, my legs and arms having fallen numb. I can’t even wipe away the dribble of blood coming from my nose, so it trails slowly down my cheek instead. 

It hurts. A sharp pain in my stomach cuts straight through the drowsy fog clouding my brain like a lighthouse in a storm. Spots begin to cover my vision, black and blue and red, and pure white noise rings in my ears, clashing with the nothingness that fills my brain. The guilt, the shame, of what I’ve done, of how weak I was to do this, covers me like a nettle blanket - stinging, suffocating, and ever reminding me of the numbness, the nothingness, everywhere else. I just want it to be over. I just want it to end… 

Soon. The only thought left in my head and I chant it endlessly. It will all be over soon. It has to be, it can’t be much longer now - can it? Could it be that - even if I die here, now - the pain doesn’t stop? Could I have sacrificed myself to escape somewhere that never lets you rest for pain? No, that can’t be it, it can’t. My eyes finally drift closed, and a spine-tingling rush of pins-and-needles suddenly showers my entire body. The fuzz in my head blocks out the white noise in my ears and the sharp smell of bile that once filled my nostrils. The burning feeling in my throat, my chest, left from the sick subsides into a wonderful nothing. The pins-and-needles are fading now, slipping into a gentle hum of numbness. My final breath pushes itself from my lungs and… 

I’m floating. My body is limp, and weightless. The shame, the pain, and the pressure from everything has subsided. I can’t feel, can’t see, but I know that it’s over. I can’t feel the familiar thrum of my heart against my ribs, can’t feel the itchy, scratchy soreness of the scars that litter my skin. Every scent, every sensation is gone. 

It’s over. Never again will I have to endure another lecture, another beating, another shameful evening alone with a razor blade clutched between shaky fingers. No more scrubbing invisible dirt from my body in the shower, no more scratching blood off my bed-sheets from leaking scabs, no more. It’s over, it’s done. 

I’m free.

**Author's Note:**

> Character Blog: <http://breaking-point-rp.tumblr.com>


End file.
